


Last Shot At Happiness

by Fiery_archer_lav3nder_P1x1e



Category: Shameless (US), Shameless (US) RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Fluff, Ian Gallagher - Freeform, Love, Love Letters, Love Triangle, M/M, Mickey Milkovich - Freeform, Mickey Uses His Words, Mickey comes back, Multi, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trevor - Freeform, cursing, fix, post 7x11, relationships, set after 7x11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiery_archer_lav3nder_P1x1e/pseuds/Fiery_archer_lav3nder_P1x1e
Summary: Mickey had ridden off into the sunset alone, because Ian had started a life where he was stable-wasn't that what Mickey wanted in the first place? Maybe that's why he couldn't enjoy his "happily ever after" without his prince charming.  But there's no way to avoid the consequences of his choices, so he's got to be a man-if he wants to get his back.





	1. A Letter from Tijuana

**Author's Note:**

> my readers from my other fictions are going to be so mad at me that I posted something new before I updated my other stuff, but I had to post this before I forgot what my idea was. The fandom could also use a pick me up, so its for a good cause. Basically this takes Ian and Mickey-and Trevor-from episode 11. Its how I feel the story should go.

The letter arrived three weeks later; it was more of a padded envelope, but it showed up in the mailbox. There were more than twenty stamps plastered on the front, with the just enough space for the familiar scribbled address. There was no return address, but the post mark was from Tijuana; when Lip saw it he tossed it on my bed and sent me a text letting me know that I’d gotten something. I was working, but I wondered hopefully that it might be from Mickey; maybe he wanted to let me know he was settled wherever he’d ended up in Mexico. 

I still had six hours of work which included two overdoses, a heart attack, and an old woman who’d fallen and broken a hip; by the time I got home I had forgotten about the package. I only remembered it when I flopped down onto my bed and it poked me in the back; I rolled over with a groan and fished it out from underneath my body. I sat up when I felt the weight of it in my hand, but it was too dark so I leaned over to snap on the lamp on my bedside table. 

I looked down at the thick rectangular orangish parcel that sat in my lap. It was definitely from Mickey, I could tell from the writing. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this-maybe I was thinking a nondescript postcard of a sunset beach. I carefully slide my finger under the corner of the flap, then I slide it carefully along until the thing opens up and I can press the sides to peek inside. It’s a stack of bills, looking suspiciously like the exact amount that I had left with Mickey in the car; I sighed, maybe I should have expected this, he never liked needing help from others. I tip the envelop so that the stack slides out smoothly into my waiting palm. There’s a folded piece of lined paper that falls out on top of the the money. I place the money and the envelope next to me on my bed and pick up the paper. 

It’s folded into thirds. My fingers flick the different sections open so that I can see Mickey’s handwriting scrawled in the what looked like the most precise thing I had ever seen Mickey write…

 

Dear Ian,

I couldn’t do it, not without you man; not when I did this so we could be together again. Tomorrow I’m going to turn myself into the feds, but I wanted you to have this back. I know what it means Ian, I’m not stupid. They’re gonna put me back in a cell, somewhere more secure probably, and tack on a lot more time. But I’m gonna be different now, do things the right way… Figure if you can change then I can too. I’m gonna cooperate with them, try to work something out. I’ll write to you again when I get settled in, wherever they put me. I hope I’m close to Chicago. I’ll do it right Ian. I promise. 

You’ll always me mine firecrotch, 

Mick


	2. Letter from Chicago DOC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it. It's too distracting, and I have finals tomorrow morning. So yes, this is a second chapter. Don't expect anything though from now on-I need to focus. I will be back though soon.

It takes another two weeks before another letter arrives; this one is in a proper envelope, but has clearly been sealed, opened, resealed, opened, then scotch-taped closed again. There’s only one stamp, but there are stamps and scribbled signatures scattered on top of the Southside address that’s written in Mickey’s neat printing. Thankfully, I’m the one home when the mail comes that day and I grab it from the pile before locking myself in my room. I sit on the floor with my back against the door, the letter cradled in my hands as I stare down at it. It’s so fragile looking, and lighter than the last one. 

I carefully peel the scotch tape to open the flap of the envelope; inside there are a couple of folded up pieces of notebook paper that have been neatly enclosed within. I unfold them numbly, not focusing enough to make out the words yet; I make sure every little crease is flattened so that it sits stiffly on my knees as I take a deep breath. This time, Mickey’s chosen to write in blocky printing and it makes it look even more formal which gets my heart hammering before I can even read the “Dear Ian”. I close my eyes for a moment, tilt my head back and rest it against the door and take a couple of deep breaths through my nose. 

When I’ve got my heart beating back at a normal rate I open my eyes and look back down at the pages of paper. I begin to read through it slowly…

 

Dear Ian,

They brought me back to Chicago, something about jurisdiction or whatever. I told them everything, figured it would be safe enough since I split up with Damon more than two weeks ago-couldn’t possibly call me a snitch now, right? So far, so good. I been keeping my head down, not joinin’ any gangs or nothing like that. Feds have a tighter set up so I don’t get as much time with the rest of the mess here, so that helps. Commissary here is jacked up so I decided to try to quit the smokes so I can afford the stamps. The Feds gave me a deal since I turned myself in without a fight or anything, only added another five years and they gave me the one thing I really wanted…

Which brings me to something real important Gallagher, and I hope that you aint too mad at me for how things have gone down with us lately. And I know you said you had a boyfriend, but hear me out, okay? You said that you didn’t want to visit me cause of all the glass and shit, so when I talked to the Feds I asked if they could let me have conjugal visits. 

 

[ I stop breathing at the word “conjugal” and I think about the fact that Mickey even asked somebody-a fed no less- about it ]

 

If you haven’t torn this up yet or whatever, please just keep reading a little more. It wouldn’t have to be for conjugal visits. We wouldn’t if you didn’t want to, if we both didn’t want to. The point is that if you came for conjugal visits then we could have a room to just sit in together-we could talk or whatever. Fuck, you probably think this is crazy shit, that I’m just trying to screw up whatever you’ve got going on in your life. 

 

[ I take a deep breath as I flip to the second piece of paper ]

 

The thing is Ian, that I heard you-you have a life, you’ve got things figured out. I don’t want to complicate that or ruin it. But maybe if we can get to know each other again… Oh shit, this is just coming out so mushy and you know I’m not used to doing crap like this-but I want to, for you. Think about it at least. And if that’s too much too fast, maybe just start by sending me a letter or something-the address is : M. Milkovich C/o Department of Corrections Inmate #xxxxx, Chicago facility, Chicago IL xxxxx. And just know that like five different dudes are gonna be reading anything you write me. 

And you don’t need to put any money in my accounts, okay? Cause I decided to make use of my time in here and I’m working in the laundry room so I should be okay so far as money goes. I want you to take care of yourself firecrotch, keep doing whatever it is you’re doin’- I want to hear about it… soon, hopefully. 

 

I love you,

Mick

 

I don’t know how long I sit there staring at the last words that Mickey wrote, but eventually I hear Fiona come tearing into the house downstairs. I scurry about until I’ve securely hidden my second letter from Mickey with the first-minus the money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we doing so far?


	3. Ian's First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian writes his first letter to Mickey...

I stare at the blank page in front of me, the pen feeling foreign in my hand for a full five minutes before I have to put it down again; it’s been like this for the past two hours, I started by pulling out the paper and pen but since then every few minutes I’ve had to get up and do something-first it was pull-ups, then pacing and everything in between that I could think of. But now, well, now I can’t think of anything else to avoid writing something. I sit back down, take a huge breath, and then pick that damn pen back up again. 

An hour later, my eyes watery and exhausted, I set the pen back down beside the pages that I had written out; I reread what I had written, hoping that I hadn’t been too emotional…

 

Dear Mickey,

I got your letters, in case you were wondering; I put the money back in the bank, even though it felt really weird when all I could think about while I was there was how you tried to hold up the bank the last time we had been there-I couldn't stop think about you, and smiling, I think the teller thought I was insane. I hope you know that I’d never tear up your letters, that I’d never hate you Mick; you still mean the world to me, you need to know that. I spent a couple days thinking about what your last letter, about the conjugal visits that you mentioned and everything… I still need some time baby; I still can’t believe you turned yourself in, I mean, why would you do something like that? I saw you drive off into Mexico, I cried happy tears because you made it babe; and now you’re locked up again, with more time added to your sentence, and I don’t know how to feel about that… Did you really do this because of me? I mean, that’s a crazy thing to do for someone. 

I haven’t told Trevor-my boyfriend-anything about our trip; I told him I was dealing with family shit and work crap, made shitty excuses that I’m sure he stopped believing at least half way through the trip. I have to figure a lot of things out with him, but I keep coming back to the same thought-if he were to tell me I couldn’t go visit you, I would leave him and see you as soon as I could. What do you think that says about me? And if he supported it, I think I would feel so guilty…but I might want to see you all the more-tell you the good news. Then what would that say about him? Maybe we’re all just a little bit crazy, but I think I’m just used to the “you and I” brand of crazy-Trevor’s new, his kind of crazy is new, maybe that’s what I found him attractive… God, you must hate me telling you this, Mick I’m not trying to tell you this to hurt you-I just want you to know what I’m thinking and feeling. And you said you wanted to hear more about my life, but if this is too much just let me know when you write me next. 

Monica’s gone, for good this time, and everyone but Frank is pretty relieved. We had the funeral a few weeks ago and it was harder than I thought-I figured after everything I had been through with her that I would feel less hurt, but I guess I just… It’s fucked up that I didn’t get to have a real mom, that all I got from her was a fucked up brain and a broken heart. And now I sound like a selfish prick. But maybe I just got that from Monica-she was always a selfish mother. 

I might have said that I have my life together now, but maybe I’m still just as crazy as I was when you knew me before Mick; sometimes I feel like I want to be that same kid who you used to bang in the fridge at the Kash-n-Grab. I still feel like that kid sometimes. But I also really like the people that we’re becoming, you know-you doing the right thing and being all sweet with me, and me taking my meds and sticking to a job. Maybe we can find a way to grow together this time. And I know that it’s mushy and gay as fuck and that people will be reading this, but I’ve got to say it anyway… There’s only one you, one Mickey, and I am still utterly in love with you. 

I’ll write to you, I promise. I will keep you updated on my life and anything else you want to know about. Just, you keep writing me, okay baby? I want to, no, I need to know that you’re doing alright. And I’m sure soon I’ll be brave enough to come and actually visit you-once I’ve decided that this is all still actually fucking happening in real life. 

Keep your chin up and your nose clean in there,

Love,

Ian

 

The tears had started to drip down my chin half way through reading it, so I hurried through the last page just to make sure that I hadn't screwed anything up too bad, then I folded it up and shoved it into an envelope. I looked at my own neat printing on the front with the information that Mickey had given me in his last letter; I hoped that it would get to him fast. I sealed it up, stuck a few stamps on it, and shoved it into my jacket pocket so that I wouldn’t forget to slip it in the mail in the morning. It was almost one in the morning, so I lay on my bed, wondering if Mickey had enough warm blankets and fucked up shit like that as I was falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love feedback and I love to hear what you think, suspect, guess what my next move might be.


	4. Talking to Trevor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian has to talk to Trevor about his not-so-ex boyfriend Mickey, but it doesn't give him that sense of relief that he was looking for.

“I need to talk to you,” my voice is quieter, shier, than I’ve ever heard myself. I couldn’t stand being at the house, not when there’s a possibility of another letter from Mickey coming; it’s like I need to force myself to have this conversation before another letter appears, otherwise I’ll really feel like a lying piece of crap. So, I came over to Trevor’s place after my shift; I took a nap, seeing as I hadn’t had such a great night’s sleep because I was thinking about Mickey reading my letter in his tiny gray prison cell. But Trevor had just gotten home, so he had come into his bedroom and gone into the closet to change his clothes. 

“Sure,” he called from inside his closet. And as he came back out, pulling a clean shirt over his head, he added with a smile “ ‘Bout what?”

I was sitting with my back pressed against his headboard, my eyes still a bit gritty from the nap, and my hands clasped together in between my knees; I looked up at him, the guy who had changed so much of my vision of the world, and in such a short amount of time. Was he going to hate me? Was he going to kick me out? Would he scream, cry, throw shit? Would I ever get to see him smile like this? And there it was, gone; his smile turned into a serious look of concern. I had to do this now, there was no way I couldn’t. He deserved to know, and if that meant that he was pissed then so be it. The smile was already gone. 

“Ian?” I pull my legs into my chest as I feel the mattress dip from his weight landing on the bed; this guy, this man, he likes me and I’m about as horrible as they come. Here he is, concerned about me, when I’m scared shitless about how this is going to destroy him. 

“It’s about my ex,” I say, my forehead coming to land on top of my knee; I can’t look at him. “And why I was AWOL for that week a while back.”

I don’t look up, just sigh heavily and close my eyes as I wait for him to say something. “You mean Mickey, the one who broke out of jail?” I can hear the shift in his tone; he’s still concerned, but he’s also judging and weighing the words that he’s saying. 

“Yeah,” I groan, my voice thick with guilt. 

“What about him?” Trevor’s voice is harsher, almost exasperated. 

“I got a letter from him,” I say, my voice flat. 

“When?” Trevor sighed and stood up, I didn’t need to look up to know he was shifting his weight from foot to foot with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “What matters is what the letter said-what Mickey did.”

Trevor sighed raggedly. This time I looked up at him; he’s leaning against his closed bedroom door, his messy curls covering his eyes as he stares at the ground beneath his feet. “And what is that Ian?” His voice is clipped; his arms tighten around his chest, but I can’t bring myself to move towards him, not just for me to relieve the guilt that I’m feeling. 

“He turned himself over to the Feds a few weeks ago, asked if I might be willing to write to him or go see him since he was doing the right thing and all,” I try to say it as quickly as I can, but my voice wavers half way through and peters out at the end. I swallow thickly when Trevor looks up at me, our eyes meeting. “So I wrote to him,” I say before he can comment. 

Trevor wasn’t one to be overly dramatic, that much I had learned; if he was pissed, he’d cuss me out, and if he was upset then he would cry or scream. But right now Trevor’s face is stoney, firm with little wrinkles in his brow as its pinched into a furrow; he’s still absorbing what I’m telling him. His heads starts to bob absent-mindedly, like if he only jostled the information around in his head a bit that the pieces might suddenly just snap into place. “When?” His voice is soft, almost dangerously so; his eyes are steely, and I can tell he’s all business. 

I don’t bother asking for him to clarify, I know what he wants to know. “Last week. He wrote to me two weeks ago.” I take in a huge breath and tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling as my head rests against the wall. 

I hear Trevor shift, so I wait for him to say something; instead, I’m surprised when I feel the mattress dip again and his familiar warmth slide into the space next to me. I can’t bring myself to look at him even when I feel his shoulder press against mine as he settles next to me. “This isn’t the end of the world,” he places a hand on my knee, his thumb rubbing gently; I don’t deserve this. “I don’t know what you were expecting here, but I’m not calling it quits on us just cause you wrote some letter to your ex. It’s not like it’s a big deal, right?”

“What if…” I close my eyes, hoping that I can make it through this. “What if I said I want to go see him? Would that be a big deal then?”

Trevor’s thumb halts. I turn my head slightly, only really able to see his dark curls perched near my shoulder. “Why would you want to do something like that?” It was painfully unemotional, like he was forcing his voice to remain as calm as possible. 

“He and I have…”

Trevor cuts me off, which is probably for the best since I had no idea where I was headed with that. “Ian, what sort of shit was in this letter?” And that’s when Trevor seems to snap back into himself; he shuffles away from me so that he’s sitting as far from me as he can without actually having to move his ass. I lift my head to look at him; it’s my turn to try to fit the pieces together in my head. “I mean, he breaks out of prison, you disappear, then you come back like nothing happened; now suddenly…” That’s when the last piece clicks, I see it in his eyes. “Ian,” his voice is a low gravelly thing. “Ian, what happened when you were gone; you said you had extra shifts and then the stomach flu. But that was bullshit, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” I nod my head as I say it flatly. “Mickey got a message to me, said he was gonna make a run for the Mexican boarder; he wanted me to go with him. I thought I wanted that, to run away with him; but when we got to the boarder I realized I was being stupid and crazy so I watched as he drove off in Mexico and then I hitched all the way to the greyhound station. I thought that was it, that I’d maybe get a postcard with “your fuckin’ loss” written on it; instead, he turned himself in.” I can hear the exasperation that I feel, it’s all over my voice. I don’t realize that I’m staring into space until Trevor’s sarcastic chuckle draws my attention back to him. 

“So that means that you need to go visit him in federal lock up?” He’s running his hand through his hair. 

“That means that he listened to me when I told him things were different,” I say quietly, before I continue. “And that means that he’s different too.”

“So that’s why you want to go see him?” Trevor’s anger is clearly audible under the layer of sarcasm that he’s using to play it cool. “He’s different so you should just ignore the fact that he did a fuck ton of shitty things?” 

Trevor’s got every right to be angry, and I may not have a leg to stand on, but that pisses me off. I feel stiff as I get off the bed, my joints popping and my muscles whining as I pace the length of the bed a few times-partly because my muscles needed the blood flow, but also trying to put the words together before I spit them out. Eventually I stop, my arms crossed across my chest as I face Trevor. “Look, sure Mickey did some fucked up shit, but he’s also done a lot to help me.”

Trevor tilted his head, giving me this “really?” look; I wasn’t going to stand here and get into some sort of pissing contest over who had helped me more. “Look, I don’t know what I was expecting, but you know what? I need to go. Maybe we can talk about this more later, but I just wanted to be upfront with you so you couldn’t throw it back in my face later and say that I was cheating on you.” I huff and start walking around the bed to get to the door. 

“You chose me,” Trevor’s voice is a hard shard of what I’m used to with him; he catches me before I can pull the door open. I turn back to him, my face trained into a mask as I wait for him to continue. “When you came back, that was you choosing me, right?” 

“Yeah,” I grumble. “But that was then.” Trevor opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “We both need some time to let it all sink in; I’ll text you later, maybe then will be better for talking. Yeah?” I ask softly. Trevor’s mouth closes and he nods his head slowly. “Night Trev,” and I slip out of his room before either of us can say anything else remotely stupid. 

The walk home is bitterly cold even without snow falling; I keep my head ducked and my hands balled into fists inside my jacket pockets. It isn’t far, so I don't worry too much about getting mugged or what-not; I can deal with any shit-heads that try something, but thankfully it’s a quiet walk. I think about Mickey, how he’s trying to be better, and about Trevor, whose just trying to be himself-and he’s a great guy. By the time I’m standing in front of the run down Gallagher shack, I’m feeling heavier than I had when I’d woken up determined to talk to Trevor. I make my way into the yard and up the steps in the dark, only a couple of the lights shining through the murky windows. 

I manage to open the door quietly enough; it’s later than I thought, seeing as the house is almost quiet and Deb’s guy is asleep on the couch already. I can hear some muffled chatter in the kitchen, but I don’t feel like dealing with any more people today; I scurry up the stairs to avoid them to find the second floor of the house completely dark except for the nightlight in Liam’s room-all the way on the opposite side of the hall as my room. When I get to my room I close my door and wedge my spare chair against it to ensure some peace while I’m sleeping. 

What I’m not expecting is after shucking off my clothes and pulling on a pair of fleece pajama pants, looking very much forward to curling up under my thick blankets, finding a distressed looking envelope sitting on my pillow-looking rather forgotten, to my relief. I grab the letter and sit on my bed, flicking on the light so I can open it carefully. I repeat the same process as with the two previous letters, somehow each one feels sacred just because Mickey took the time to actually sit down and write this shit down for me-only me. 

 

Dear Ian,

I aint going anywhere Firecrotch; if you want to write to me about whatever, whether its your boyfriend or your messed up family, I’m not going to just cut you off or whatever shit you think I might do. Sorry if this is a bit short or if I come off as a dick, but I’m about a week off of cigs all together now-I did a fast cut back thing, but eventually I just had to call it quits for good. My head is killing me, all I want to do is sleep it off, but every time I open my eyes I remember this aint a fucking hangover it’s withdrawals. 

I hope I don’t cause too much of a problem between you and the boyfriend-Trevor, right? I just hope he’s a descent guy, treats you okay and stuff. I want you to be happy, that’s the most important thing; you know that right? I want you to be safe and happy… Which, actually brings me to something that I need you to know-honesty, right? I decided to get checked out by the clinic here since I was trying to get fixed up; they ran a bunch of blood and stuff, turns out I have a yeast infection and Gonorrhea. Doc said that the Gonorrhea was in the early stages, so if you’ve got it and you get the antibiotics quick everything should be fine; said I got the yeast infection from banging the prison guard from before-the chick, shit, right?

I keep screwing up your life even when I’m trying to do better; sorry man. Great, now I’m feeling like shit and my body is screaming at me to smoke a fucking cigarette. Look, I’ve got to hit the yard, maybe slam out some pull ups or something before my shift in the laundry room. I’ll write something better in a few days. Hope you’re doing good Firecrotch. 

Mickey

 

As I flick off the light and curl up in my blankets I make a mental note to stop by the clinic on the way to work; at least Mickey had done the decent thing and let me know, Gonorrhea could cause a lot of problems if it wasn’t treated. I was too tired from everything with Trevor to get up so I just tucked Mickey’s letter under my pillow as I got comfortable and told myself I would hide it away in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos, comments, opinions, or theories of what you suspect might happen


	5. On my Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so first, full disclosure; I don't really know too much about how the prison system works so I'm sort of making up my own rules in my head. I was thinking about adding in some of Mickey's POV-just here and there, it would still mostly be Ian's because Mickey's in prison and there really isn't too much that changes in there. these are just some ideas that I was rolling around. Also, I really only follow the Gallavich story so some of the other storylines might be a little wonky-if you see something and you tell me, I will correct it and try to be better in the future.

Turns out that I don’t have Gonorrhea, but the clinic doctor decides to give me a course of antibiotics just in case it’s dormant; while I’m there I ask her if I could get some nicotine patches for discount, she’s nice enough to give me like five boxes for three dollars. I tuck the plastic bag from the clinic into my backpack as I run off to catch the L for work; I try not to think too much about anything having to do with my life while I’m on the rig, which helps-it helps me focus on the people that we’re helping and it helps me stay stable. It works until after lunch; that’s when I get a text from Trevor telling me that he’s not sure how he feels yet so he’s going spend the night hanging with some friends to blow off some steam. 

I don’t bother trying to hide the fact that my love life is screwed up with my coworker, but I field most of her questions with “it’s complicated” and she barely realizes that she’s the one doing all of the talking. The rest of my shift I spend in brooding silence for the most part, though it helps that we only had two more calls after that and they were semi-conscious elderly ladies that thought they were having strokes but really they were just cold and dehydrated. It’s close to six when we finally come back to the rig house and call the shift done; I grab my pack out of my locker and jog the three blocks to the L. 

I sort of come back into my life while I’m sitting on the L watching Chicago go by un a blur. I realize that maybe Trevor is going through his own issues with everything I told him yesterday; he needs his own time and space to deal with it before we can talk about it, so I’ll try to give it to him because that’s only fair. But that doesn’t mean that I just put everything on hold, especially not with Mickey; I have to keep figuring out how I feel too, and that means following my heart-no matter how gay that sounds. So, as I’m walking home from the L I pick a cardboard box out of one of the allies; it’s clean and dry and the right size that I need, so I carry it the rest of the way to the house. 

I toss my things in my room before I join the rest of the family for dinner; tonight it’s hot pockets and frozen french fries, but I make sure to grab an apple to chew on first since the smell of the food is making me nauseous and I know that it’s just because of my meds. I make sure to drink a lot of water while I listen to my siblings bitch about their days; I tend to get headaches at the end of the day because I haven’t drunk enough. I listen to Debbie complain about juggling high school and taking care of Frannie and Neil and looking for a job, but I mostly tune it out when she hands Frannie over to me and the kid prompt snuggles into my chest and starts to doze off. When Deb takes her to put her in her crib Carl comes over to tell me his leave is almost up and he’s got to be heading back to school beginning of next week; I let him know that we’ve got everything under control, so he shouldn’t worry, and he says that he’ll try to write more often or something. Then I give Kev some pointers for working at the Fairytale, even though the thought of him working there kind of makes me gag. Eventually everyone but Lip and Fiona have gone to bed so I decide to sneak upstairs since no one would miss me. 

I dumped out the contents of my backpack on my bed and slowly started sorting through it; I tossed my uniform in the hamper, I threw away the wrapper from the granola bar I had eaten, and then I took a look at the things that I had picked up from the clinic. The antibiotics were simple enough, twice a day with food for ten days. the nicotine patches seemed simple enough, though I’d never tried them; peel and stick directly on skin to help with the cravings as needed. 

I tossed all the boxes of patches into the cardboard box I had picked up before I grab a piece of paper, pen, and a book to write on. I sit on my bed, my back pressed against the wall behind me, the cardboard box sitting somewhere on the other side of the bed, and I begin writing another letter. 

 

Dear Mickey,

I want you to have these; I hope they make it through the searches since they’re legit and I aint tryin’ to pull nothing. They didn’t cost me a thing since I got ‘em at the free clinic. I hope that they help with the withdrawal pains and stuff, especially if that means that you can write to me and feel better while you’re doing it. I picked them up when I went to get tested for Gonorrhea; turns out, I’m clean, but they gave me something just in case. Thanks for giving me a heads up about that; you know, this thing, friendship, relationship, whatever it is that we’re trying to figure out, it has to be honest-no bullshit, no shit period. I hope you’re doing okay Mick, I know that bein’ in the joint was never your thing because you had to be the top so no one’d fuck with you. 

I talk to Trevor the other day, told him the truth-at least most of it, and I didn’t add in any more lies, so that’s something. He was kind of confused at first, wanted to know why I would want to write to you; that’s when the rest just came out-told him that those days that I was MIA I was with you and that you had wanted me to go with you to Mexico, but that I had decided to come back because my life was on the right track. He got pissed, started trashing you a little, so I told him that we both needed to cool off and talk later. I don’t want you to worry about any of this shit though, okay Mick; this is my problem, not yours. If Trevor has a problem just with me writing to you, then I guess we’ve got more of a problem than I thought, but that’s not on you. I’ll talk to him in a few days, give him some space. 

I hope you don’t go lookin’ for trouble what with the withdrawals kickin’ in; you always liked to get into fights when you weren’t feeling great. I don’t know if you remember, probably not since you were drop-dead-drunk, but whenever you would pass out in the front room or something I would make sure you made it up to our bed. You would grumble about feelin’ sick to your stomach and I’d help you to the bathroom so you could puke; I’d rub you shoulders after, you used to like that. Probably don’t remember. Don’t know why I told you. Should probably burn this part or your cellmate might jump you in the yard or some shit. 

I guess what I really wanted to say Mick is that I miss you; that was never really a problem with us-at least not for me. When you were gone, you were gone-I didn’t expect you to leave Lana and come find me at Fairytale. And when you were mine, you were her’s too. But now it’s like your mine, but I can’t even be near you to enjoy it. It sucks man. And I want to, enjoy being with you. 

God, you probably think I’m too fuckin’ gay to handle right now. Keep your head up Mick. 

Love,

Ian

 

I fold up the letter and I place it inside the box song with the nicotine patches and then I fold over the flaps. It’s close to midnight by now, so I change into something more comfortable and curl up on my side; that night it’s the first time I dream about Mickey since I saw him last-and it’s not as dirty as I thought it would be. I’m warm and happy in a much more comfortable bed, probably a lot bigger too, and I feel Mickey all wrapped around me. As everything becomes clearer I feel each one of Mickey’s fingers as one hand presses into the hollow of my hip and the other runs through my hair. I can see his eyes darken into an almost indigo blue as he presses his smile into my neck. Our legs are entwined and I can feel his leg hair tickling the backs of my calves as my toes stroke lazily at his shin. “I missed you,” I mumble in the dream. Mickey’s hot mouth sucks gently on my collarbone before he breaths a satisfied “me too Firecrotch” into the skin. 

I wake up slowly, not really ready for my day; I come out of the dream so slowly that I’m disappointed when I realize that it was just a dream. But eventually I get up, shower and dress quickly, and head out before anyone can ask me about the small cardboard box that I have tucked under my arm; I have a night shift, so I really shouldn’t be awake this early anyway. I head over to the post office; I write out an address label, pay the fee, help tape the box up, and I don’t bother to care whether or not the guy notices that I’m shipping something to the federal prison. I grab a breakfast burrito from a truck on the corner on the way back home; thankfully everyone’s already off to wherever the hell they’re supposed to be. I take my burrito to my room and munch on it while I lay on my bed; the rest of the day really should be devoted to sleeping and getting ready for work. I end up drifting in and out of sleep, mostly day dreaming about Mickey being there with me. I feel like such a fag, so I decide to do sets of push ups and pull ups. Anything to get my mind off of my convict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think so far-I am also adding a bunch of tags since I was in a rush when I started this fiction. Leave me some comments and ideas and love and questions and anything else you can think of.


	6. Fiona's Two Cents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the oldest Gallagher sibling to give Ian a little bit more perspective...

I keep myself busy with work and babysitting the kids for the rest of the week; Fiona’s got her hands full now that she’s back working at Patsy’s full time, so I figured this would give her a chance to breathe while I figure my own shit out. She has to work a double on my day off and I don’t even bat an eyelash before I offer to deal with getting everyone home and fed; when she drags herself into the house around ten that night I figure she’s just about to crash like I want to. Turns out, she’s got a little more still left in her. I’m sitting at the dinner table, rag I used to wipe it down with clenched in one hand and the other rubbing my temples-Mickey used to do it, better than I ever could, when I would get headaches. 

“Hey,” she whispers through the growing darkness as she makes her way through the living room and into the kitchen. I stand up, toss the rag towards the sink, and nod as I turn to head up to bed. Fiona puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me back around to face her. “Sit down and have a beer with me,” and it wasn’t a suggestion. 

I sat back down while Fiona popped the tops off of two beer bottles and handed one to me while she took a gulp from the other. She sat down at the corner of the table so that she could lean on her elbow and stare at me. She stared at me for a long while, but before half her bottle was gone she was finally spitting out what was on her mind. “So,” she said as she set her beer bottle down. “What’s up with you lately kid? You been quieter than usual and then all the sudden you’re so helpful and you don’t…” I take a long pull on my beer bottle, knowing that this is headed to a place where I would rather be drunk than talk about this sober. “I don’t know Ian,” she sighs. “You just seem lost. Is everything okay? Are your meds bugging you?”

I take another pull from my beer and then put it down; I need to savor it, I only allow myself to have one a day cause it will mess with my meds. I run my hands over my face and sigh. “My meds are fine,” I concede. “It’s not the meds, the meds have been fine for a while.”

When I can’t seem to find the words to say something after that Fiona starts to pull off her jacket. “Does it have something to do with this then?” And she pulls out a stack of envelopes from one of the inner pockets and places it in front of me. On top there’s a letter addressed to me that’s been opened and resealed a couple of times and the return address is the Federal Pen. 

I don’t even bother tried to find a lie to tell her. “Mickey’s been writing to me; he turned himself in a month or so ago. He wants me to think about coming to visit him. Trevor didn’t take it well,” and I sip at my beer. “So yeah, my life is kind of fucked up right now. But it’s not the meds.” I hear the resigned sound of my voice and shrug it off with another sip of beer. 

I don’t bother looking at Fiona. I don’t want to feel guilty about being in contact with Mickey; Trevor already made this a tough decision, but if I knew how much Fiona hated Mickey I don’t know if I could deal with it-not right now anyway. So I stare at my slowly emptying beer bottle and wish that Fiona would just keep her big mouth fucking shut. “I think you should go see him then,” her voice is surprisingly upbeat. I can’t help but look at her with a “what the fuck” stare. “Ian,” she pushes her beer bottle away. “How much do you remember from when you took Yev and bolted?”

“Not much,” I say honestly; it was almost a year since I’d gotten my meds in the right ratio, so more than a year since my break with reality. “It all sort of felt like a dream, or like I had cotton candy in my head and was watching a really bad horror movie.”

“Do you remember Mickey callin’ you non-stop? Or how bout when he got Lip and Deb and Carl to drive all the way down there with him just so that they wouldn’t lock you and throw you in the god damn hospital?” I shake my head numbly. “Lip told me everything, called me, and I was there when we all decided that you needed to go in for the 72-hour evaluation. Mickey was the one who couldn’t say good-bye, didn’t want to, asked the nurse if he could fuckin’ go in with you behind those wire doors. He’s the one who wanted to do anything to see you better.” I swallow hard. “He’s the one who came up with a plan, wanted to take care of you; he wanted to live with you and make you better kid, even if he had to us sheer will power.”

I push my beer away as well and I stare at the envelope sitting in front of me; I want so badly to grab it and run up to my room. “I didn’t know that; I thought he was just tired of all the crazy shit I was doing and wanted me to settle down so he could deal with me. It was so hard to be with him; I loved him, but I felt like he was just handling me.” 

Fiona shakes her head and reaches out to place a hand over my twined fists. “I think you should talk to him, you clearly still have some connection with him. Just remember that you’re not the same shithead who you were, and neither is he; but you’re still the same kids that fell for each other in the first place.” 

I nod my head but remain silent. Fiona pats my hands once more before she tosses both our beer bottles into the bin and heads up with a quiet “G’Night” over her shoulder. A few seconds after I hear her door close I grab my letter and bolt up the stairs. I lock myself in my room and turn on the lights so I don’t have to hunch while I read Mickey’s words. 

 

Dear Ian,

I can’t thank you enough for sending those patches; they really take the edge off, help me think clearer, makes the day easier to get through. It’s kind of pointless with all we’ve been through, but I’ll say it anyways; I owe you one man. I know, I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve saved each other, but I still feel like I should thank you. We’ve always taken care of each other, haven’t we Gallagher? It always came back to you and me, just the two of us against the world. Anyway, I tucked the boxes under my mattress-not necessarily the most original, but my cellmate and I are on pretty good terms so I think it’ll be okay. His name is Lucas, he did something like hit-and-run or some shit like that, and we have this arrangement; he and I don’t give a shit about each other as long as he gives me double jello in the mess line and I fold his laundry while its still warm and make up his bed for him-which, don’t tell anyone I actually admitted this, but I like making up beds and doing laundry. It’s really fucking soothing man. 

I know you’re not going to like this, but I’ve been thinking about Trevor too. Maybe you should consider offering him some sort of olive branch-I think that’s the right term to use here. If it would make him feel better I could write to him too, or he could write to me. Think about it, its up to you if you offer and then its out of your hands once you do. I don’t really care, I just want to talk to you-you’re all that ever meant anything to me. You know that, right? But if this makes you happy or if this makes your life even a little bit easier, then I can do this-it’s not a problem. So, do whatever you want. But do it for you Ian, not for him. 

I think about you all the time now, its like now that I know someone's actually reading these letters I can imagine you sitting on your bed reading them. God, I bet you’re even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you. You were always so beautiful with that crimson mop of yours and those green eyes that always got me into so much trouble. I miss that, getting into trouble with you like we used to; but I was thinking about that too, and I realized two things. One, I have way too much free time in prison-where did all this thinking come from. Two, I think that Mexico was crossing the line-probably the worst trouble I’ve ever gotten us into. It was too far, Ian, and I realize that. If I ever get out of here, I promise that we’ll get into all sorts of trouble-Southside, New York, Korea Town, wherever. But I also promise that I will never cross that line again. No more prison, no more bailing me out, no more crossing the boarder. 

God, I sound like such a girl. But, I guess I just have to own up to some of that; I mean, I’m in love with you and I’m done hiding that. Not much more anybody can do to me in here, so why bother. I love you Firecrotch. And I don’t want to sound pushy, so don’t get your panties in a wad, but have you thought any more about the visitations? It'd really boost my moral, seeing you and all. 

My shift in the laundry is gonna start soon, so I’ll leave you with this…

I may not always remember what happens when I’m drunk, but I can remember ever morning I woke u to you when I should have been waking up on the floor. And I’m grateful for each of those mornings we had Ian. They were great, all of them. 

I love you Firecrotch,

Mick

 

I walked around in my room in a daze, his letter clutched in my hands, as I went about getting changed into pajamas. I turned off the lights and snuggled into bed, Mickey on my mind once more. It wasn’t until I was about to drift off that I realized that his letter was pressed into the side of my face as I lay on my pillow. In a half-sleep panic my head pops off my pillow and I gently slide his letter under my pillow with only one thought in mind “keep Mickey safe”. It kept repeating over and over in my head as I settled into sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of Fiona and her little chat with our Firecrotch???


	7. Shit Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so sorry for the delay, and I know a lot of people want me to update my other stories too so I'm sorry if this wasn't your first choice for me updating. I have been busy with school, it's as simple as that. I am trying my very best to get things written-I mostly get a chance to write between ten and midnight. 
> 
> Our boys (all three of em) are slowly starting to figure things out.

I want to write Mickey the next day, but I’m working a morning shift that turns into a double so I get home closer to midnight; the next few days run in similar patterns until Sunday, which thankfully I have off because Debbie decided she wanted to have Frannie baptized. It turns into a family barbecue, which is nice until I get a text from Trevor; all it says is “I think we should talk again, soon.”

I end up at Trevor’s around eight that night, shifting nervously from foot to foot while I smoke on his porch before I get up the nerve to knock on the door. I’m so deep in my head that I don’t notice the door open; Trevor sticks his head out. “You comin’ in or what?” 

I don’t have the energy to be surprised, I just grumble and snub out my cigarette before I follow him inside. I don’t bother taking off my jacket in case this conversation goes south and I need to bolt. Trevor doesn’t exactly seem comfortable as he sits down on his couch. I can feel his eyes on me as I fidget and lean against a wall across from him. 

“So I’ve got some questions about whatever this thing is between you and your ex,” and I’m encouraged by the fact that Trevor’s voice is calm. “Is it alright with you if I go ahead and ask? I don’t want to do anything deliberately to upset you.”

I nod and shrug and make my way into one of the armchairs across from him. He clears his throat and crosses his legs. “How long has Mickey been back in the states?” 

And that’s how it starts; the next hour seems to be Trevor’s version of twenty questions, and I politely answer them as honestly as I can. By the end Trevor knows that Mickey’s been back for a little over a month, that he cooperated with the feds when he came back, that he’s working in the prison so I’m not sending him money, that its my turn to send him a letter, and that I sent him nicotine patches; it seems like I’ve told him everything, except…

“What?” Trevor’s voice is a little sharper as he quirks an eyebrow. 

I may as well, I think; its just sitting on the tip of my tongue. “Mickey mentioned something about you in his last letter. He said he would be willing to write to you too, if that would make you feel better or whatever. I could give you is information if you want. But I don’t want you to be mean about it; he’s doing a good thing, and if you’re not going to be nice then I don’t want to give it to you.”

Trevor nodded his head, staring at a spot on the carpet. “I’ll think about it.”

“I think I owe it to you to tell you that I’m going to visit him,” I blurt out, the silence driving me crazy. “Mickey deserves to know that someone cares that he’s doing the right thing and I know Svetlana hasn’t taken any time to go see him.”

Trevor crosses his arms over his chest, and I know him well enough to know he’s getting uncomfortable because he’s not feeling in control of the conversation any more. “I won’t even bother asking if I can talk you out of it; besides, you’ve got a pretty damn good reason for wanting to do it. Can I ask you one thing?” 

“Of course Trevor,” I huff. He’s being childish, acting like we’re not even friends; I know it’s complicated, but technically we’re still together. 

“I get that you’re trying to figure out whatever’s still between the two of you, and I even get it if you decide to get back together with him.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Just don’t cheat on me, I still want to be your friend even if you choose him over me. So will you just do the decent thing and breakup with me before you decide to sleep with him?”

I open my mouth to spit out a response, but he beats me to it. “If,” he corrects. “If you decide to sleep with him.” I nod solemnly. 

“It’s getting late Trev,” I shift in my seat before I stand up. “I’m gonna go, but I’ll keep you posted. Let me know if you want Mickey’s address-and really give it some thought.” I say my good bye, Trevor doesn’t get up, and as I’m walking out the door I’m sure I hear a heavy sigh coming from the couch. 

When I get back to the house the only light on is the one in the kitchen; I climb the stairs quietly so I don't wake anyone-they’ve got school and work tomorrow. I pull out the letters that Mickey has sent me and flip through them, rereading some of my favorite parts. It’s past midnight when I tuck the letters back away and pull out my notebook and pen. 

 

Dear Mickey,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot, like a lot; and I want to come visit you, but I’m a little nervous-how do I do that? I know you said that you got permission, but what do I need to do in order to come see you? Will you tell me in your next letter? I’ll come as soon as I can. I can’t believe I’ve even waited this long; I mean, shit, you drive me crazy Mick and I’ve missed you so much. This is basically the thing that I’ve been wanting since I saw you cross the boarder. 

In other news, Trevor seems to be handling things better; I talked with him tonight actually. It was fucking weird to be honest. The only thing he asked was that I not cheat on him; he wants me to break up with him properly if I decide… if we decide…god damn, why is writing to you like this make me feel like a fuckin’ girl?

Oh right, because like three other people are reading this before you get it. Super romantic. Just, send me the information on visiting you and we can actually talk in person. And let me know if there’s anything that you need-you know, safe stuff to bring you. Are you allowed to have candy? I know you must be jonesing for something sweet. 

I miss you Mick,

I can’t wait to see you,

Ian

P.S. I’m definitely gonna want a hug when I see you, just be prepared. 

I think it’s the shortest letter I’ve written to Mickey since this whole thing started, but somehow it feels different. I fold it up and address the envelope and everything before I slide into my bed. I think abut Mickey, about what I could take him that the guards might let him keep; I know he’d like something sweet, but I also know that Mickey gets cold and has a strange fascination with ultra soft blankets. I smile at the memory I have of finding Mikey all wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets; he’d been doing laundry and he’d been tired from Yevgeny crying all night the night before, so he’d fallen asleep in the big pile of freshly dried linen. When I managed to uncover him he looked so peaceful and happy, but what was precious was the fact that he had one of Yev’s baby blankets and was using it as a pillow-his face smooshed into it like it was the best thing in the world. That was my Mickey, I thought as I curled onto my side and pulled my blanket up to my chin; my Mickey was the sweetest, but also the smartest, cause he knew just when to be soft and when he needed to be a shit-talkin’-Southside-thug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. I was feeling all soft and mushy so I had to write the ending this way-hope it did good for you... It made me smile.


	8. See and Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter of our boys being cute and vulnerable.

It takes less than a week for me to get my next letter from Mickey; this one is a larger envelope, the manila packet is bent like a taco in the mailbox when I get back from work one afternoon. It’s the cherry on top of an already good week; I had been on day shifts and I hadn’t lost anyone, in fact none of the cases that I had handled had been serious-mostly just elderly slip and falls or other accidents. I had brought Liam home from school on my way home from work, but seeing that familiar handwriting on the envelope made doing second grade math and English homework with him seem like the best thing-because as soon as he was done and tucked in for the evening I would have something waiting for me in my room. 

Liam was smart as a whip even though he was quiet; I watched over his shoulder as he worked on his math worksheets, quietly fixing dinner for the whole Gallagher brood: meatloaf, mash potatoes, and carrots. Every so often Liam has a question, so I lean over the kitchen counter to help him out however I can. Everyone slowly trickles into the house by nine; Debs is on the phone talking to Carl about some teacher that she has, asking if he has any idea how to deal with whatever problem it that they’re discussing, but she throws a wave at me. Fiona shows up, a plastic bag swinging in her hand and a smile on her face; apparently there was extra meat delivered to the diner so she’d bribed the butcher delivery boy-we had some good cuts of meat as well as ground beef and pork as well as hot dogs and sausages-we’re set for summer barbecues for the rest of the summer. Lip gets home, a scowl on his face, and goes straight to his room; or possibly the bathroom because I hear the vague sound of heaving coming through the ceiling. 

“Dinner!” I holler around nine thirty; I help Liam get a plate before everyone else can charge in. I sit down with my own plate and we start to chew as the rest of the crew comes down the stairs. I make sure to pour Liam a glass of milk, grab Fiona a beer, give Lip a coke and hand Debs a bottle of water. We eat and talk, but mostly I just listen because I’m thinking about the letter from Mickey that I’m so close to reading. 

“Mmm,” Debs hums in delight. “Ian this is really good.” That snaps me out my haze; I realize that they’ve mostly grown quiet with chewing. I nod silently and pick my fork back up. 

“Yeah Ian,” Fiona chimes in. “Thanks for making dinner. And Debs is right, its really good.”

I huff a laugh and shrug it off. Lip doesn’t bother contributing, but he grunts through a mouthful of meatloaf and carrots. I chuckle; I would never tell them this, but I was actually thinking about Mickey when I was cooking. Mickey always loved meatloaf; he said simple was better, as long as it was done well. Mickey loved comfort food. It’s not fancy, but I did put in a little extra to make it special; I mixed garlic into the potatoes and I mixed up a barbecue sauce thing to put on top of the meatloaf. I think Mickey would like it. 

After dinner Fiona demands that I take a break while she does the dishes and cleans up; Debs has to go pick Frannie up from daycare after dinner-I’ll never know how she talked Vee into picking up Frannie from regular daycare and babysitting her till this late at night. Lip headed straight to bed, grumbling about looking for a better job in the morning; he hasn’t had any luck holding one down since the thing with the University fell through. I tuck Liam into bed, making sure to leave his nightlight on, and then I find my way back down to the kitchen. 

“You’re in a good mood,” Fiona says as she’s washing dishes. She smiles over her shoulder at me as I slide onto one of the kitchen stools. 

I can’t help but smile down at my hands. “Yeah, got another letter from Mickey.”

“Really?” She’s got her back turned, but I can heard the surprise in her voice. “And you’re sitting here with me?” 

I laugh softly, not wanting to wake anyone up. “Thought you might want my schedule for the week, ‘scuse me.”

She chuckles at my sass. “Write it down and go up stairs; you obviously want to go have some quality time with your man.” 

I start to scribble down my schedule with a pencil and a scrap of paper. “You know I’m still technically with Trevor, right?” I don’t bother looking up. 

Fiona makes a noise and I can’t really figure out. “Actually haven’t heard you mention in a while, thought maybe this Mickey thing might of… well…you know.”

I sigh. “It’s been rocky the last couple weeks for sure, but nothing has been decided. However that might change…” I took a deep breath. “I’m going to go visit Mickey, soon, hopefully.”

Fiona whipped around at that, a plate covered in suds in her hand. Her eyes and mouth are wide. “You’re not kidding, are you?” Her voice is quietly shocked. I shake my head quietly. I stand up and stretch. 

“Night,” I say with a smile. 

“Night Ian,” she calls softly as I make my way to the stairs. 

I smile all the way into my room. I pull out the envelope from under my blanket and sit down on my bed to open it. The first page is lined paper with Mickey’s writing; I smile as I read through his letter. 

 

Dear Ian,

You have no idea how happy your last letter made me! I miss you so much Firecrotch!! I know that it’s just to talk, but I’ve been feeling lonely and just seeing you is going to be amazing. Try to stop me hugging you. I’ve included the paperwork that you’ll need to fill out and send in-a background check, a waiver, and some other shit. I also got the list of contraband so that you know what you can and can’t bring. It may take a week for you to get your background check back, so I’ll wait patiently for you-keep writing to me, please. 

I’ve been so bored the last week-Lucas has no talent for conversation, not that I’d really want to talk to him. Turns out that talking here really doesn’t go over well, so I’ve been keepin’ quiet for the most part. I’ve been doing better keepin’ out of trouble with the patches. Is it completely gay that I tell you that I live for your letters because its the only real conversation I get?? God, I miss you. I can’t wait to see you. 

Trevor can’t be all bad, at least he doesn’t sound bad from what you’ve told me. I hate the thought of him getting his heart broken in order for me to get…well, you. And just so you know, I’ll respect his wishes too-hugs, but I will not rip off your clothes. And I’ll keep my clothes on too. I want to hear about the family and your EMT gig when you come see me, okay? But I think I want to hear about Trevor too; he’s been good to you while I’ve been gone, which means he’s kind of doing me a favor. I always want you to be happy Ian, no matter what-whether that means you’re with me or him or someone else. 

I think the biggest thing I’ve learned from this letter writing thing has been that you and I have always been more than just fuck buddies. You are my best friend Ian, possibly my only friend. I was just so afraid of Terry taking it all away from us that I couldn’t bring myself to admit how tangled up you and I had gotten. You were so much more than just my lover. And now I know. I don’t ever want to lose that friendship. 

Okay, now I’m getting all sappy. I’ve got to go buy stamps for this monster envelope, so I’ll write to you again soon. 

Love you,

Mickey

 

I flip through the pages behind the letter; I pull out the ones that need signatures and stuff and take them to my desk. I fill them out and double check the instructions before I fill out an envelope for them; I’ll drop it in the mail in the morning and hopefully I’ll get my approval in a week. I check the clock after I finish up; it’s passed midnight and my eyelids are already drooping. I resign that I’ll have to write to Mickey tomorrow after my shift. I crawl into bed, already thinking of things that I could take when I go to see Mickey. My stomach does a flip when I realize that soon enough I’ll be able to go visit Mickey. I’ll be able to see and touch Mickey. I sigh into my pillow, happy and excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think things are going to go?


	9. Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's POV on getting a letter from Ian

I get a letter from Ian a few days later; the guard delivers it on his rounds in the afternoon; Lucas was doing his shift in the kitchen preparing for dinner, so I made sure put his letter on his bunk before sliding onto mine and rolling onto my back. I didn’t have my shift in the laundry room until after dinner so I have free time and I’m avoiding the yard. I lay on my back staring up at the bottom of the bunk above me. I take a couple of deep breaths while I clutch Ian’s letter in my hand. 

Of course when I get up the courage to open it up and look at it, it’s already open-I’m used to it by now. I carefully unfold the sheets of lined paper and run my fingers over his precise handwriting. Ian’s letters are always so intimate somehow, maybe knowing that he had taken the time out of his busy life to write a cheesy old-fashioned letter to me.

I stop overthinking and just slowly start reading the words that he’s written just for me, savoring each and every word. 

 

Mickey,

I filled out the paperwork yesterday and sent it off to wherever-the-hell it needed to go. I wanted to write to you the second that I sent it off, but it was late and I had a shift the next day so I had to wait until the next night to sit down. I was so excited when I got your letter Mick; I don’t care how sappy it sounds, okay Mick, I miss you and I’m looking forward to seeing you… And yeah, I’m looking forward to hugging you. 

Maybe it’s just because I live inside my life all day every day, but I feel like it’s so boring-I go to work, try not to screw up too bad, I come home and I help take care of the kids and stuff. Things at home seem to have calmed down for now; Frank’s been AWOL for the past week but no one really gives a shit-he’ll show up sometime and god knows that he’ll bring a shit show with him. Fiona and I are trying to switch off having late shifts one week at a time so that we can take turns taking care of Liam and dinner and all that domestic shit. I feel like even when I’m not working I’m still working. But I love my family, well, except for Lip on occasion; I’ve been going steady on my meds, which I’m sure you remember was difficult coming to terms with, but Lip refuses to see he has a drinking problem. I guess this is how you felt when I was going off the deep end and trying to help me…

God, I’m so sorry Mick. That took a quick turn didn’t it? But it’s true, Mick; I am so sorry that I fought you when you were only trying to help me-I wish I could have seen it then. Fiona told me about when I was sedated and you helped get me into the hospital. You must have really loved me Mick. And I don’t know why. I really don’t think I deserved it, still not sure if I deserve it. You were so sweet and kind under neath all that tough exterior, it was like a secret you kept just for me. I always thought that one day I would make something of myself in the army and then when that was done I’d come back with more to offer than SouthSide shit-and yes, I know that sounds like a line from some corny rom com but I mean it. I would have come back to you and asked you to move out of that hell hole and move somewhere better-with me. But when everything started to go to hell-you now, the army, my bipolar, and Sammi and then you being in prison-I thought I’d never get a life, let alone one that you would want to share with me. 

I always wanted to be with you Mick, since everything went down with Svetlana and your marriage-I knew I wanted to be tangled up with you in any way you would let me. And then I fell apart. And I didn’t want to be a burden. You deserved something better than me. 

If anything I feel as if I owe you an apology Mick; if I was really what you wanted, then I’m sorry I kept that from you. I want you to have whatever you want Mick; whatever makes you happy, even if I don’t think I deserve it if that means you want me. 

I’m thinking of bringing you a nice soft blanket. You always loved being wrapped up in a warm blanket when we were together. But if you think it’s going to cause problems with your cellmate, let me know and I’ll think of something else. Maybe I’ll bring you some snickerdoodles. You used to love my cooking.   
I guess that’s about it for tonight-I have a shift tomorrow that I should rest up for.

Love ya,

Ian

 

My chest is tight and I can’t really seem to suck in a breath for a moment as I stare at those last three words. He loves me, at least I think he does. And he says that he loved me before too; I think that’s what takes my breath away most. I run my hand over Ian’s signature, my fingers tracing over the way that Ian’s “n” flicks up at the end. It’s amazing how one person can make your life feel like it actually matters, even after all the years that we tortured each other. 

I take a huge gulp of air when I finally can, a prickle of moisture stinging my eyes. I wipe at my eyes and take more deep, shaking breaths. Ian and I have never really had a chance in the hell hole that we grew up in, and yet some how we found each other and found that thing inside one another that makes us shine. It’s beautiful and sappy and I’m so incredibly grateful that Lucas isn’t around to see me getting all mushy over a letter-sure he knows I get letters and that I don’t open when he’s around. When I’ve had enough of feeling all the mushy things that Ian makes me feel, I fold the letter back up and tuck it back into the envelop carefully before I hide it with the others. 

I wrap myself up in the coarse, scratchy blue blanket that the prison provided with the bed; Ian was right, I love being warm and cozy. I’ll get a few minutes after my shift to write to him, to pull out my spiral notebook that I hide under my pillow and pull out the ballpoint pen from under the springs of my bed. For a moment I just enjoy being wrapped up in the warmth, even if it isn’t as soft as I know Ian’s arms would be-Ian loved to hold me. But I can’t help myself, after a while I couldn’t help it-I just needed to write to him. 

I pull out my notebook and pen , my blanket hooded over my head and shoulders. I began writing to Ian as if he were laying right next to me, like he used to when we shared the same bed. I image him, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling, like I used to love staring at him. Ian always looked so peaceful when he slept, and I envied that-the only time I was ever really relaxed was when Ian was by my side (being shit faced didn’t count). Before I knew it, I was smiling and tearing out the pages that I had written for him. I folded up the pages and tucked them into the notebook until I can get to the commissary to pick up an envelope and stamp to mail it. 

Just as I’m straightening up my part of the room again the cell door slides open and Lucas swings on to the top bunk he occupies. “Hey man,” is his only response-God love Lucas for his antisocial tendencies. 

“ ‘Sup man,” I say as I roll back onto my bed. “Anything good for dinner tonight?” Lucas only really likes to talk about food, which is fine by me. 

He gruffs a bit and I can hear him shrugging. “Eh,” he grumbles. “The lasagna aint bad, I worked on it tonight so I think it’s good-better than what they usually give us.”

“Huh,” I say as I settle back. My mind is still on the letter that I’m excited to send, the one lurking beneath my head. As the quiet seeps into our cell, I smile as I think about Ian. My Ian. My Ian coming to visit me. My heart and stomach do flips at the thought. I could touch My Ian. And soon. Like really soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? What do you think the boys will do when they finally see each other again


	10. Brother helping Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian's POV again. We get to see Lip and his life. We get a lot of brotherly love as well as Mickey sweetness-honestly, I think Mickey's a MnM with a hard candy shell but a soft mushy inside. I love my little boys.

Mickey’s letter had arrived on a Friday, the same day that I received a letter from the department of corrections. I had gotten home from grocery shopping and been grateful for an empty house. I had been torn on which one to open first, but I figured that the letter from the from the government would be short-whether the response was positive or not. 

After I had put the last of the groceries away I make sure the locks on the front door and back are secure before tearing up to my room with both envelopes clutched in my hand. I toe off my shoes and fling myself onto my bed. I rip into the thinner envelop and unfold the single sheet of paper. 

Yes, I smile to myself; I’ve been cleared, the background check came back and they’ve enclosed a schedule for visiting at the federal penitentiary in Cook County. I could see Mickey as soon as this Wednesday-all the stars aligning. 

I was still smiling like an idiot as I gently opened Mickey’s letter, my eyes slowly taking in the handwriting that I thought was delicate and bold. 

 

Dear Ian,

Got your letter and I’m so glad that you’re still willing to come and see me even after having all these hoops to jump through. I miss ya so much man, you have no idea. And you bet your ass I’m looking forward to hugging you-don’t care what anyone thinks but you man. And you wanting to bring me something, remembering how much I liked being wrapped up in the blanket, man you got me all mushy-I can’t be feeling all mushy in here…

But I forgive you man, cause I miss you and you’re coming to visit me soon-hopefully. Still can’t really believe it. Thought that maybe you and I were history, or that the best I could hope for was the pen pal thing. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. See, now I’m getting all mushy again. Only you Ian, only you. I’m lucky that I’ve got the cell to myself right now, so I can get a little mushy as long as I hide it. Lucas is in the kitchen right now, so I’m taking my time to imagine you here-maybe that’s not right. Scratch that, I’m imagining me there with you-wherever you are. 

I like the idea of you bringing me a blanket, it would definitely be better than this one that comes standard with the bed-I swear it must have been made out of stubble, it’s so scratchy. If it’s not too much to ask, if you do bring me a blanket could you maybe spend some time snuggled in it before you bring it? Everything here smells like bleach and sweat-I’m sure you still smell so much better. I don’t know if this is pushing it man, so I’ll keep it to just this one confession, but I can’t help but fantasize in here-and I fantasize about you, but mostly I imagine us snuggled up together in our bed-I miss pressing my nose into your neck and hearing you chuckle. Always did something to me man, I don’t know how to stop it. 

I hope that doesn’t make things weird. I just thought it was better to be completely honest. And I don't want to pretend like I have no feelings-did that for too many years. And your letter felt like a confession, so I felt like I owed you one of my own. I want you to feel heard Ian. And I want you to know that I’ve loved you since I first saw that smile you gave me-the one before we banged in the freezer that first time (trying to be honest, and we both can agree that the first time we were together was pure instinct-not that I didn’t love it). I know you’ve had it rough the passed couple of years Ian, but I need you to know that I’ve always wanted to be with you. I know you may not feel like you deserve your happy ending, but I think maybe we both do-we’ve worked for it for so long, both together and apart. 

I wish there was something I could give to you when I see you, but they don’t really let us do many arts and crafts here. I feel like you’ve given me so much even being in here and being so out of reach. I owe you so much. And hey, I’m slowly weening off the patches now-should be completely off them and done with the cigarettes in a few more weeks. Thank you again, I don’t know how I would have done without those patches. Even so far apart, you’re always looking out for me. I love it. I love you. 

I need to finish this up before Lucas gets back, don’t want him to see me being all mushy and smiling like an idiot. But I’m looking forward to seeing you, or getting your next letter-I hate that I sound so needy, but you really are the bright spot in my dark little life. 

Hope you’re sleeping well,

Love ya,

Mickey

 

I placed the sheets of paper down on my chest as I take in a huge breath. He still loved me, I thought; the words repeat themselves over and over in my head until I have to close my eyes. I want to think about him, talk to him, tell him I’ve dreamt of him. My reverie is interrupted by the sound of the door opening downstairs and clearly drunken stumbling. I sigh deeply as I open my eyes slowly and smooth the pages over my chest as if I were petting a small animal, but when the sounds of bumping and cursing float to my ears I give up. I tuck my letter with the others and head down to the main floor of the house; Lip is there, drunk and belligerent. 

Lip’s been riding the waves of his alcoholism ever since they rejected his plea to return to the university; he’ll binge for a few nights, then sober up in his regret, find a day job, and then he’ll grow depressed with his prospects of a future and then he’d go out drinking and the cycle would continue-the jobs didn’t last more than a few weeks. Tonight is night two of a binge for him, so he’s angry at himself and depressed that he’s such a screw up. 

“Ya okay Lip?” I ask as I lean against the door frame between the living room and the kitchen; my brother is standing, looking confusedly at the couch, before he looks up at me with a snarky grimace on his face. 

He scoffs as he stumbles into the couch and knocking his knees out from under himself and landing with a muffled oomph. “What do you care man?” He grumbles, his face smashed into the couch cushions. “Fucked for life, never getting out the Southside. I’m a useless piece of shit.”

Lip’s words remind me of fucking Mickey in the dugout after he got out of juvie; he’d said something similar then, even though I could tell he was still fighting tooth and nail to get himself and Mandy out of this life. He had a moment of weakness, but he was always that badass thug I loved and looked up to. I choke on my chuckle, knowing that Lip wasn’t in the mood for laughter-it would only make things worse tonight. 

“Man give it a break,” I scoff. “No one has it easy, and yeah every now and then we have a pity party, but you’re going on benders is just selfish. You’ve got to get your head out of the bottle man, otherwise nothing’s gonna get better.”

“Shut the fuck up man,” Lip groans as he rolls over to face the back of the couch. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout. This isn’t just something I can stop…”

At that, I snap. “Yeah, cause bipolar is just a mid-life crisis I got over in a couple weeks.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and walked over to the couch. Lip was in a state of near unconsciousness, so I uncapped the bottle and swiftly dumped the contents over his head. He flipped backwards off the couch, luckily missing the coffee table by inches. “I’ll drag you to meetings, take you to shrinks, whatever you need, but only if you’re finally ready to get your ass sober and deal with your life. I’m sick of seeing you flush your life down the toilet, so when you’re done let me know.” I toss the empty plastic bottle at Lip’s head as he sputters and pushes back his wet hair. 

“Shit Ian,” he growled. 

“I love you Lip,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest; I could feel my own voice rumble through my chest. “But I don’t want to see you kill yourself slowly-you’re not Frank, you mean a lot to a lot of people.”

I clomped back up the stairs to my room, tired of dealing with my drunk-ass shit-head brother. I pull out paper and pen and sit down to write a response to Mickey; three hours later just writing to him has me in a better mood and I’m smiling. I’m about to seal the envelop and get ready for bed when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I call out “come in” expecting it to be Fiona letting me know that dinner’s on the table or something. 

“Hey man,” I look up to see Lip, looking more sober but still damp. I lean back in my desk chair and stare into his bloodshot eyes. I just sit there and wait for him to continue-I’d spoken my piece downstairs, it was his turn now. He hung in the doorway for a moment, silent, before finally speaking in a gravelly tone. “You’re right, okay. But I just hate the fact that I’m so smart, and yet I can’t seem to get this under control on my own. It’s fuckin’ ridiculous. I feel stupid, and I’ve never felt that way before so I hate it.”

He stands there and stares back at me, but eventually his eyes flicker to the papers sitting in front of me. “Fiona mentioned something about a pen pal, didn’t mention is was Mickey.”

My eyes widen and I scramble to gather up my papers and shove them into a desk drawer. “None of your business, especially when you’re drunk-I don’t want any shit about it.”

Lip held up his hands, his eyes falling to his shoes. “I get it, I’m a piece of shit right now-I wouldn’t trust me either. I just wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand with something-promise it’s nothing too terrible.”

I huff and roll my shoulders. “What? What favor do you want now Lip?”

He takes a deep breath, but his eyes don’t return to mine; he stares off into the distance. “If I’m gonna do this, I gotta start out by getting clean-typically detox is three to ten days. I was hoping you and Fiona could take turns babysitting me-we could do it based off your schedules since you’d be doin’ me a solid. After that, depending on how I feel, I can either do meetings or admit myself to a clinic.”

I just watch him for a minute. “Is this the last time?” I ask. 

He turns sad eyes towards me and shrugs solemnly. “I mean, I want it to be the last time, but isn’t part of it not being able to control the future-if I slip again I hope you guys know that I’m just human and I’m a screw up. But I hope you won’t just give up on me.”

I digest for a moment and then sigh. “We can sit down and hash it out tomorrow night-I’ve got morning shift so that gives me time to come home and take a nap before. Fiona okay with that, sitting down tomorrow?” Lip nods his head. “Get some sleep, you need to be sober for us to talk-try not to drink till then, okay?”

He nods his head again and turns to leave, closing my door as he goes; but he stops and I look back up at him. “You and Mickey were always so good to each other when you needed it, I always envied that. Mandy tried to be that with me, but I screwed it up. Hope he’s doing okay.” And with that Lip’s gone and my door is shut again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did we like this chapter?? I love hearing from you all


	11. Pulling Favors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long, but life handed me a lot to deal with-exams, moving back home, family, and all that entails. But I'm getting back into the swing of things and writing over the summer is one of my favorite things I plan to do this summer. Here is another chapter, this time in Mickey's POV.

I receive a letter from Ian at the end of that week, much faster than any other time. I hide it under my mattress since I have a shift in the laundry room. When I get back to the cell Lucas is leaving for his shift in the kitchen. 

“Any chance I could ask for a favor man?” I ask, my voice hushed. I don’t want it getting around that Lucas can pull favors, and I certainly don’t want word getting around that I was asking around for favors. 

Lucas stopped on his way out of the cell with a gruff grunt coupled with a shrug. I huff a breath, irritated that I’m reduced to this-plus he could ask for something, something I don’t want to give up. “Think you might be able to sneak me some snickerdoodles?” I scrunch up my face in a grimace. “Not today, obviously, but if I give you a couple days notice?”

Lucas quirks an eyebrow and leans against the cell door. “Weird favor man, what’s it for?”

I hope that I’m not blushing even though I feel warm in the face. “Got someone coming to visit soon maybe, want to be able to say thank you in a nice way. You now?”

“Snickerdoodles, that their favorite? Most people like chocolate chip.”

I smile, knowing my stupid red-head is actually sensitive to chocolate. I remember once when I had swiped a bunch of chocolate bars and brought them over to Ian’s; we’d pigged out while watching junk TV. The next day we’d woken up tangled in Ian’s bed, but Ian hadn’t exactly felt so good. He called it a “sugar hangover”, but I knew it was the chocolate. We had spent that day in the dim room, drinking water and cuddling until Ian had felt better (or at least well enough to go to work). “Yeah, snickerdoodles.” It’s all I can scrounge up. 

Lucas huffs in response. “Yeah, I guess I can whip up a batch if you give me at least a day’s notice.” 

“Thanks man,” I murmur as he nods and heads out of the cell. 

When he’s gone and the cell is quiet once again I lay down on my back on my cot. I wait till the guards come by to close the cell door and then I pull out Ian’s latest letter; the envelope feels thicker than usual. I carefully peel open the flap and pull out the papers that are folded inside. It’s actually two letters, one that has Ian’s precise printing and the other is a shorter scribbled note. I read the longer letter first. 

 

Dear Mick,

I got home today and my background check clearance was waiting for me in the mailbox. Once I get my schedule figured out for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be there. I know you have visiting hours on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so I’ll try to be there two weeks from Monday. I think I’ll pick out a nice blue fleece blanket; I saw one in the window of a shop in downtown last week when I was working a shift. I’ll pick it up tomorrow, put it on my bed when I get home, and I’ll wrap up in it every night until I come to visit you. Think that’ll be enough time for it to smell like me? 

I miss you too Mick. You got me all teary-eyed with that last letter. I can not imagine you being so open to hugs or talking. I can’t wait to see you. This just makes it all feel weirdly exciting. I wish I could come tomorrow, but I’ve got a shift. I know you said before that you didn’t want my money, and I get that Mick I really do. I’ve been working hard, both getting my life together and saving my money. So, I know that you’re doing well on your own, but if you need anything at all-if there’s anything that I can bring you or whatever just include it in the next letter you send me. I want to help you if I can. I feel like we’re in this together. Like we’ve always been. 

Things here at home are about as good as they can get; I’ve been avoiding Lip cause his shit just makes me mad-fucker drinks, goes to a few meetings, gets a job, gets drunk, loses the job. I can’t deal with him yet, but Fiona and the kids seem to be doing alright. Haven’t seen Frank in a few weeks now; last time he was around Fiona was at the house, texted me to stay away while she dealt with some shit or other with him. I’m tempted to ask her if she killed him and dumped the body in the landfill. But you know, I don’t really care either way so I’ll just ride it out until he either shows up or Fiona confesses. Debbie is considering moving in with this fiancee of hers, to give us more space around the house; she and Fiona have been fighting about it, so she comes to me. 

Confession… I would be really sad to see her and Frannie move out. I love that baby girl. I love Yevgeny, even though I don’t get to see him anymore-Svetlana hasn’t really let me see him much since you went away. But with Frannie it’s different; I’ve gotten to watch over her since she was born, even when I was all wacked out on my meds I would see her and know that she was perfect. Whenever I have time I like to babysit for Debs so I can sit with Frannie; she’s still at that age where she falls asleep on my chest. Best feeling in the world. Sorry, I know you hate it when I get sappy. 

I want you to know that I’m proud of you Mick, for doing the right thing and everything. I know you had the chance to run away from your problems. But you didn’t, you came back. And I know it was hard. But I have to tell you, I’m glad you came back. It feels like you came back to me, like I was the right thing. I want to be that for you Mick. I want to be right with you. I want us to have a real conversation when I come to see you; so you think about this before I get there. Can we put the past behind us, Mickey? Can we be us again? Is that what we want? Is that what you want Mickey?

Anyway, I’ll look for your letter. 

Love ya,

Ian

 

I look at the words that he’s carefully written to me; and for a moment, I forget that he’s currently attached (at least somewhat) to another guy and that I currently live inside an eight by ten foot cell and my roommate is really my cellmate. I let the bliss surround me for a few minutes before reality starts to set back in. I shuffle the pages to the one that’s more scribbled than written. 

 

Hey Mick,

something came up with Lip and I may not be there as soon as I want, but I will be there. Just keep writing to me until I can get there. Hopefully this is a step in the right direction for Lip. I’ll tell you more about it later. 

Ian

 

Now, I didn’t think too highly of the middle Gallagher; he’d given my Firecrotch lots of bad advice in the past, but if he was finally doing something right, then I was all for it. I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that I wouldn’t be seeing Ian as soon as I wanted, but I guess there was nothing I could do to avoid that. I put my letters away and lay on my bed. I wanted to give Ian something more than just cookies. He deserved to know just how much I missed him and appreciated him. I pulled out my notebook and pen and started a new letter. However, this time, I started it by writing “Dear Fiona”…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, let me know what you think and also I will be posting updates to my other stories in case anyone was wondering, just give me a little more time-I hear you, I truly do.


	12. There For Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this last night but the internet went down. I've had a cold for the past three days, which sucks for everything except my writing I guess. 
> 
> A chapter in Ian's POV. two letters. I hope you like it and that I didn't make too many twisting plot mistakes.

It’s Tuesday and it’s been a rough forty-eight hours; Lip started to dry out Sunday, so he was rather irritable right now. We’d designated Frank’s old room for him. It had started with nausea and sweats, but now Lip couldn’t keep still or even rest. Fiona was going to take the next forty-eight hour shift watching over him and making sure he had enough water and anything else he might need. But right now I’m taking a break, sitting on the couch downstairs staring at the wall. My head was spinning from having spent the past hour watching Lip pace back and forth. 

Fiona comes in and I don’t even know what time it is. I’m actually looking forward to working my double in the morning. I love Lip, and I’m glad he wants help, but this babysitting thing is starting to wear on my nerves. 

“Hey there sweetface,” she says as she shuffles into the house with Liam on her hip and a plastic bag hanging from her free hand. “How’s the patient today?” 

“He’s been pacing today,” I say as Fiona moves into the kitchen. “Started driving me crazy. I kind of wanted to dose him with some thorazine, but I think it’s better he go through this with as little help as possible. You know?” I head into the kitchen to help Fiona with whatever she was carrying. 

“Yeah,” she says as she starts pulling things out of the bag that she was carrying. Some of it’s groceries, but there’s also the mail and a paper bag from the pharmacy-my medication refills. “I think you’re right.”

“How was your day? I’m starting to feel a little stir-crazy in here. Debbie’s been staying over with Neil, says she doesn’t want Frannie around a dunk who's drying out.” I take a seat at the kitchen counter as she starts flicking through the stack of mail. 

She smiles and tosses an envelop my way. “This should make your day better,” she says slyly. 

It looks like a letter from Mickey; I would recognize the envelop and post mark anywhere. But when I pick it up I feel my face twist into a frown. “Um,” I grumble under my breath. “This is actually addressed to you Fiona.” I flick it back over to her. 

She gives me a confused look and picks the envelop back up. She makes a “huh” sound and wanders off to the kitchen table. “Put the rest of this shit away would ya?” She mumbles as she takes a seat to open the letter. 

I get up and take her place on the opposite side of the counter. I continue putting away the groceries. There’s a long silence. Every couple of seconds I can’t help but flick my eyes up to see what Fiona’s doing, and each time she’s still got her eyes glued to the page in her hands. 

Once everything is put away I wipe down the counter. Fiona appears at my shoulder a few seconds later. “Here,” she says and holds the envelop and paper out to me. “You may as well read it. I’m headed up to bed,” and with a pat on the shoulder she’s heading up the stairs. 

I sit down with the letter in the empty kitchen. It may only be late afternoon but the house is quiet; Fiona’s going to sleep until I have to head to work in the morning. With Debbie out at Neil’s, Carl still off at military school, and Lip upstairs drying out, that just leaves Liam. He’ll be home in an hour or so. 

 

Dear Fiona,

I figure you and Ian have been able to talk about me-god that sounds so self centered. I just hope that he’s been able to talk about this with someone. I know he loves you and you’ve always been supportive of him. I dunno, I just wanted to make sure that everything’s alright. It’s not that I don't trust Ian, fuck I’d trust him with my life, but I know how he can be so I wanted to get a second opinion. I don’t want to be another burden to Ian. If I’m putting too much pressure on him right now, or if he’s still conflicted with this other guy-Trevor-or if he’s just not really into me and just trying to be nice…You can let him know that he doesn’t have to come and visit me. I know Lip’s been going through some stuff with his drinking, Ian seems irked by it but said that things have been getting better. I don't know anything about getting sober, but I know that if you and Ian are there for him then he’s got a decent chance. 

I wanted to thank you Fiona. I know that when I got put away the first time Ian was in a bad place, but from the sounds of it-from what Ian’s written to me-he seems to be in a real good place now. I know you probably did a lot of the leg work since I wasn’t there. I really appreciate that you took over for me. I’m really glad he’s got you and that he’s feeling healthy. Wish I could have been there to help because it must have been hard. 

I know it may not be any of my business, seeing as I’m currently in jail and all, but I did have one last thing I wanted to mention to you. I still have Mandy’s last known, I could try giving her a heads-up about Lip. But I don’t know if would help or hurt. You can either write me or let Ian know to write me letting me know. Figured he maybe might need some support. I may not always like Lip, but I don’t want him to suffer. If Mandy could help, then let me know. I’m writing to her same as I’m writing to you today. I won’t tell her too much for now, just see what she’s up to and shit. 

And Fiona, you can go ahead and show this to Ian, I figure you’ll probably tell him all about what I’m writing anyway. And I’m all about the honesty thing now. And thanks again Fiona. Feel free to write to me if you just want to talk. Got nothing better to do in this place. 

Sincerely,

Mickey

 

I folded up the letter and slipped it back into the envelop. Mickey, I thought exasperatedly, you could be the biggest fool sometimes. I left the letter on the counter and went about the kitchen busying myself getting a snack and dinner ready for Liam. Just as I finish cutting up carrots and celery for Liam, that’s when the kid clomps in the front door. He may be the quiet Gallagher, but the boy sure is smiles and giggles. He jumps to work on his school stuff at the kitchen table without being prodded. 

I place the plate of veggies down in front of him and pour out a load of Ranch dressing to go along with them. “How was school today little man?” I ask as I sit down at the table with him. Dinner’s in the oven, so I’ve got some time to just hang out with my little brother. 

“Good,” he says and then grabs a carrot to munch on. He’s all smiles as we chew on the vegetables and I watch him as he does his math worksheets. His new school gives him a lot work even for a second grader, but he gets the help he needs after the whole cocaine ordeal. He’s going to be the only one of us to actually get through college without a “break”. 

After he’s finished his math we take a break and I give him dinner: baked chicken, green beans, and baked fries. I’m not a great cook, but I can manage to put together something. It’s close to six when we’re finished eating and I’m washing the dishes. Liam’s switched to his English homework. When I finish the dishes he’s still working away, so I pull out a spare notebook and a pen. 

“Mind if I keep you company bud? I’ve got something I want to work on too.” Liam just smiles and nods as I take a seat next to him. I flip open the notebook and uncap my pen. I start writing. Halfway through Liam finishes his homework. 

“Alright kiddo,” I say as I look over his work and check my watch. It’s a little passed nine. “Everything here looks good. What do you want to do till bedtime?” 

I look up from his homework folder and Liam has this twinkle in his eyes. “Cartoons?!” He squeaks. 

“Sure thing,” I say. “You’ve got till ten and then it’s up to bed with you. Got it?” He nods and takes off into the living room. A few seconds later I hear the TV click on and the soft sound of laughter. I turn back to the page I’d been writing on. 

 

Dear Mickey,

Fiona got your letter today, and she showed it to me just like you told her to. And I don’t know exactly what you were expecting, but I gotta say man-you are kind of a wonderful man. Things here may not be perfect man, but I hope you know that I would never think of you as a burden. And I would never lie to you. I haven’t talked to Trevor since I let him know I was going to come visit you, but I’m not going to screw him over or you-I just want to come and see you, see if what we had is still there, see how you are. If things move along, then I’ll let Trevor know, but until then I just want to take care of you. You are doing such a good thing Mick, and I’m really proud of you. 

Lip decided to finally give sobriety a fair shot-we’ve got him on a timeline to dry out by the end of this week, then we have to decide if he needs to go into a rehab or if he can manage meetings and shit on his own. But Fiona and I are taking care of him and each other. I think it’s real sweet of you to see about Mandy. Once Lip’s in a better head space I’ll see how he feels about it. If you get a hold of her, let her know I’m doing fine and I miss her. 

Mickey, I know that you were trying to take care of me and I know you only ended up in jail the first time because of that bitch Sammi, but I need you to know that it’s my turn to take care of you. I haven’t been around the Alibi lately-don’t drink as much on the meds and I work a ton of hours now-but I know that Svetlana is living above it in the apartment up there with Yevgeny. Want me to see if I could get you a picture, maybe a drawing from him. He is half you, so he’s probably fuckin’ adorable.   
I wish I could do more for you. I’ve been snuggling up with that blanket every night, but I wish there was more. You deserve so much more Mickey. 

Love,

Ian

P.S. I still imagine you in my bed too-all curled around each other. It’s one of my favorite memories of us. 

 

I end the letter before I start to cry, which isn’t too far away; I swipe at the moisture fogging up my vision as I find an envelop and a stamp. Once it’s addressed I take it up to my room and tuck it away. I’m about to head back down stairs (since it’s almost bed time for Liam) when Fiona pokes her head out her door. 

“Hey,” she says, her baggy sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder as she shuffles towards me. “You gonna get some sleep before your shift in the morning?” 

I nod my head. “But I’ve got to get Liam to bed still,” I jerk my head to the sound of animated gun fire coming from down stairs. 

“Eh,” she shrugs. “I can handle that, besides Lip had a nightmare and woke me up. Why don’t you call it an early night, yeah?” She gives me a pat on the shoulder as I nod my heavy head. I watch her go down before I slink back into my dark room. 

As I got myself into a soft pair of sweat pants and crawled into bed with the blanket that I was going to give to Mickey, I thought about the man that I had watched cross over the border to Mexico. He had been hardened, desperate, like a wild animal just looking for somewhere safe he could catch a breath. I snuggled into the blanket deeper. I hoped that Mickey would feel a little better once he saw me and could see how much better I was. Then maybe he would be able to see how good we could be for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head I keep going back and forth on whether Liam is still a little baby or if he's a second grader so yeah, i dunno thought I'd let you know that my brain can play tricks on me. Let me know what you think.


	13. Payoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now updating this story, if any of you read my other stories. I am slowly working away on my stories. I AM NOT LEAVING OR ABANDONING ANY STORIES, just letting you all know. I am a senior in college, so I am very busy, but I also love my stories and I love being able to update them for everyone.

Ian’s letter makes me cry, or at least it’s the closest to crying I’ve allowed myself since landing in here; I’m really thankful that Lucas is in the kitchen and that the block is empty when I choose to lay down on my cot. The letter had arrived in the morning, but I hadn’t had time to read it until later. My eyes had watered and my chest had tightened as my breath got choked in my throat. Ian wanted to take care of me; he was proud of what I had done. I buried my face in my pillow, desperately wishing it was the broad chest of the man I loved. 

I had heard from Mandy the day before; she had gotten my letter and wanted to call me as soon as she read it. As I take deep breaths, trying to hide the tears in my pillow, I recall our short discussion. 

 

“Hello?” I had been confused; sure, people got phone calls, but usually it was from their lawyers. My lawyer hadn’t called me since he let me know that my request for a private (conjugal) room for visitors had been granted. 

“Mickey,” she had sounded close to tears herself. “Mickey, is it really you?” 

“Well who the fuck else would it be?” I snap, but then I can’t stop the smile that curls my lips. “It’s good to hear from you Mandy. How have you been?”

“How am I doing? How am I doing? Shit, I’m fine compared to you.” She scoffed. 

“Come on Mands,” I groan. “I’ve only got like four more minutes of phone time. I want to know about you.”

She laughs under her breath. “Fine, if you really wanna know. I’m doing good. One of my clients got clingy, sprung me from the business and set me up in his Fortune Five Hundred company as a secretary-got a sweet apartment, moved me out of Indiana and closer to where he was in New York. The only thing he didn’t count on was him having a heart attack. Poor guy was only forty.”

“Would have thought his wife woulda knocked him off if he was treating you so well,” I scoff. “Nature beat her to it I guess.”

“He wasn’t married Mick,” she sighed. “He was talkin’ about marrying me, but I told him it’d be a bad idea-he didn’t want someone finding out about my history and then use it to tear down his company.” She sounded so lost. 

The guard waiting near me gives me a one minute warning. “I’m so sorry Mandy; when did he die?”

“Almost six months now,” she says softly. “It’s been lonely here since he passed, but I go to work and I live my life. But how are you? I didn’t think you’d ever come back and now I hear from you and you’re in jail again?”

My minute’s quickly ticking away. “Yeah, about that. I didn’t know you had moved to New York, but I was wondering if my little sister might be willing to come to Chicago for a visit seeing as I’m not exactly mobile at the moment.”

“What’re you playing at Mick?” And I can hear in her voice that she’s going to start pestering me with questions; she’s too damn familiar with me. 

“Wish I could stay and chat, but my time is up Mandy. Think about coming to visit, talk to ya later sis.” And with one final look from the guard I hung up the phone. 

 

Lucas came into the cell, a very disgruntle guard escorting him. I cleared my throat and rubbed at my face to remove as much of the residual emotion as I could. “Next time someone asks for the knife what are you going to do Lucas?” I guard deadpanned.

“Hand it to them,” my cell mate said sourly. 

“And what are you not going to do?”

“Stab them in the hand,” he says dryly. “Even though he knew better than to just grab for it like that, so it’s really his own fault.”

“Four days no kitchen duties, instead you’re on laundry duty with your cellmate.” And the guard closed the cell with an exasperated sigh. 

Lucas grumbled and climbed up onto his bunk. “Don’t worry,” I grunt. “Laundry’s easy at least and it ain’t as nasty as janitorial duty.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Just mad at myself; it’s like I’m wired wrong, and every time I find something that makes me happy I screw it up. ya know?”

There’s a heavy silence before I breath a “yeah” and turn back onto my stomach. I lay there for a while, Ian’s letter clutched in my hand, but unable to look at it for fear I might ball my eyes out again. I think about the times I had lost Ian; some of it had been me, the choices I had made, and some had been Ian’s choice. But maybe Lucas was right; maybe we were just wired wrong. Maybe Ian and I didn’t know what to do if we got something that made us happy. 

Later, after I had tucked away Ian’s letter, and after I had shown Lucas how to fold towels in the laundry room, I sit on my bunk and I pull out my notebook and pencil. Lucas is snoring softly above me, so I start to write out a letter. The first one I write is to Mandy.

 

Hey Sis,

I know we didn’t get much time to talk when you called. I didn’t even get a chance to get your new address, so I hope that this makes it to you. I want you to know what happened; why I came back to the states and turned myself in. You don’t know what it’s like between Ian and me. Sometimes we hurt each other, but I’ve loved that man since we were boys. I spent a little time with him before I crossed over the boarder, asked him to come with me, told him that I loved him; but Ian told me that he was a different person, that he couldn’t go with me because he had gotten his life together and he wanted to keep himself out of trouble. He stayed behind and I left. And it was then that I realized that for the rest of my life I would be a fugitive, always running, and I would never see that amazing redhead again. After two days of heat and bad beer, I couldn’t handle the thought let alone the reality. I decided that if I wanted any chance of having Ian in my life I had to start doing the right thing. 

I turned myself in because of Ian, but I have to say that doing the right thing has started to grow on me. I only asked for one thing when I talked to the feds; well, to be honest, two things, but I’m still not quite ready to talk about the other. I asked to be able to see visitors in a conjugal room instead of with the other inmates in the communal area with the bullet proof glass and the phones. I’ve been writing to Ian, trying to mend fences with him; I’m hoping that he’ll come and visit me. If you come to Chicago you should come to see me too; it’d be good to see you sis. 

But the reason that I’m reaching out is actually because of Ian’s idiot brother Lip. I know it’s been a while since you two were together, but I remember you really seemed to care about him-at least enough to hit that girl with the car. He’s in trouble right now. He’s got a drinking problem, just like Frank and right now Ian and his sister are helping him dry out. But it’s hard for the family. I was thinking that maybe you could visit him, give him some encouragement. But it’s up to you. 

Love you sis,

Mick

 

I fold up the page and slide it into an envelope. Once that’s done, I go back to writing. I think about Ian, and imagine him as he’s laying on his bed while he’s reading my letter. The last time I’d been with him, he’d held me from behind. His chest against my back and I remember the soft brush of chest hair; Ian hadn’t had chest hair before I’d gotten thrown in jail, he’d waxed his chest and legs to dance at the club. I had sighed later, when we had made our way back to the van and Ian had held me close to him; my nose pressed into his chest, the musk deeper because it clung to his soft chest hair. 

Before I know it, my letter is finished, there’s a warm blush on my cheeks, and I’m missing Ian more than I have in a very long time. I take a couple of long, slow breaths to calm down the half hard erection that’s growing in my jumpsuit. When I’ve got myself under control again, Lucas is still sleeping on his bunk. I had about an hour before our cell block got called for supper in the mess hall. I waved my hand through the bars to get the attention of the guard. 

“What’s the problem Milkovich?” 

“Hey Joe,” I clutch my two letters in my hands and stand politely in front of him behind the bars. Joe’s a good guy, and he may put on aa mask of being an asshole, but I’ve known him since I’ve been here. “I was hoping to go to the mail window before dinner.”

He sighs and looks over his shoulder at the other guards posted along the corridor. His walkie crackles. I can’t make out anything specific. “Now’s not a great time Mick,” and I can hear in his voice that he’s sorry. 

I nod my head silently and take a step back from the cell door. “Wait a second.” And I look up to see Joe chewing on his bottom lip. “It just those two in your hand?” I nod. “And they’re already addressed, no contraband in it or nothing?” I nod again. Joe made an exaggerated sigh, but I couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, hand em over I’ll front the cost for the stamps this one time.” 

I slip the two envelopes through the bars to Joe. He took them and turned. I smiled to myself as I heard him clomp back down the corridor. Maybe this whole doing the right thing had it’s pay offs? I went back to my bunk and curled up, smile still on my face, and wait for the dinner call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some sort of comment and I will do my best to respond to you. Any comment is appreciated.


	14. Living for Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me a little while to write this, but because of my senior year in college I took some time off to focus on that and didn't realize how much I would have to reread before I could write another chapter. I'm hoping to get all my stories updated as soon as possible. I still love all my stories and will not abandon them. Or any of my readers.

I got home, Liam in tow, four days later to a letter from Mickey sitting on the coffee table; Lip was feeling better, a little cranky if anything, and was sitting there smoking a cigarette as he read the newspaper. “Hey,” he said as I walked into the dim room. He’d been rather light-sensitive, and noise-sensitive and prone to headaches but at least the nausea was gone. 

Liam snuck in ahead of me, glad to see our older brother outside of his quarantine room; he launched himself at Lip and Lip smiled as he gave him a bear hug. I didn’t notice the pile of mail on the table in front of Lip until I had put Liam’s backpack in the kitchen and returned with two bottles of water-one for myself and one for Liam, it was hot out and we’d walked home from his school. Lip had since put down the paper, and was currently helping Liam flip through the channels on the television in search of something to watch till he needed to start his homework. 

I sat down and placed the bottles of water down on the coffee table. That’s when I saw the mail. “Oh, yeah,” Lip said as he slid the pile over to me with a tired grin. 

I scoffed as I picked up the letter on top. “You actually went outside today?” Sure enough, the envelope was addressed to me in familiar handwriting. “And you didn’t burst into flames?” 

“Fiona was complaining about not being able to breath with all the smoke I had building up in my room,” he sassed. “So she supervised my little walk outside, we got the mail and I had a few smokes on the front stoop.” When he noticed me just staring at the envelope in my hand, he gave me a nudge. “You okay? You gonna open that or what?”

I smiled at the envelope. This was my Mickey, my special connection with him. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Just savoring it I guess.”

He nudged me again, so I turned my head. Lip had pulled out a cigarette, which was already between his lips, and was offering me his pack. Out of instinct, I reached for it. But I stopped, hand just an inch away. I thought about how Mickey had been strong enough to quit smoking because he wanted to make sure he had enough money for stamps, stamps for the letters he was sending me. I looked back at the envelope in my other hand. “Nah,” I said and I stood up. “But thanks. Hey, you feel up to helping out Liam tonight with his homework? I wanna go up and have some time to myself, ya know?”

Lip seemed shocked by my refusal of his cigarette, but shook it off easily. “Sure, no problem.” 

I smiled and ruffled Liam’s hair playfully. “30 more minutes then homework time, sound good?” He nodded with a giggle. “I straightened up and headed to the stairs with a call over my shoulder. “You show Lip just how good you’re getting at math, kay bud?” Before either of them could answer I was up the stairs and in my room. 

I stretch out on my bed, the soft blue blanket that I’m planning on taking to Mickey pillowed under my head, the envelope containing Mickey’s latest letter held above my face like a star. I like to imagine what he was doing when he wrote me my letter. I like to think that as he writes to me that he smiles, thinking about me. After a couple of minutes I sigh and carefully unseal the envelope. 

 

Dear Firecrotch,

I miss you so much Ian. I miss everything about you. I miss the way we use to be. I don’t know if this screws up your plans about keeping Trevor on the hook, but I want to let you know that I am interested in whatever you’re willing to give me. I know we started this with “keeping things casual” in mind, so I don’t mean to put any sort of pressure on you but I really want you to know that if you ever decide you want to be something more… I’m all in. I realized today that subconsciously I may have already wanted this. Ian, this time is different. I haven’t slept with anyone since I’ve gotten here; I don’t know if it’s because I made that deal with Lucas or if I just decided that I’m not interested in any of these tools. But I guess I just miss my redhead. No one compares. 

I can’t wait to see you; I hope that you’ll have time to come visit me soon. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to occupy my time. Maybe I should take up a hobby; I know for a fact that we’re not allowed to knit or crochet cause some guys use that stuff as weapons. Any suggestions? I don’t have much space, but I can manage. And it can’t be too expensive. 

I talked to Many, but we got cut off since I’m only allowed five minutes. I wrote her again though. She’s in New York now, been through her own shit over the past year. The good news is that she’s no longer in the business she was; however, the guy that got her out of there is kind of the bad news also. Apparently this guy was thinking of marrying my brat sister, got her a legit job and everything, but then he had a heart attack and passed away. I don’t know exactly how hard she took it, it was hard to tell over the phone. She said it happened six months ago, but I know how hard she can take things; I saw it when she lost your brother. I asked her if she might think about coming to visit me. I miss her too; she is the only family I have left. I hope it won’t cause too much of a problem for her though. If I had her number or address I would give it to you, but I haven’t gotten that yet. 

There is something I’d like you to bring with you when you come; the food here isn’t as terrible as it could be-Lucas does his best to work his magic. But I can’t get anything half way decent when it comes to dessert. Now, I’ve got a crazy sweet tooth, but I don’t expect you to bake me a cake or anything. If you could just bring me something sweet, maybe something chocolate? A Snickers bar maybe? Anything would be great. 

See you soon,

Mickey

 

It was one of the longest letters that Mickey had written to me and also one with the most thought put into it. I had already arranged to go to the prison for a visit the Monday after next. I had a box that I had been putting trinkets in, things like picture that I thought Mickey might like and a leather journal and other things I wanted to give him (if the prison allowed me to). I would add the blanket last, right before leaving to see him. Now I had a mission to find sweet things to give him; I worked a graveyard shift tomorrow which meant that on my way home in the morning I could stop by all the gas stations and minimarts and gather up a collection to take to him. I smiled at the thought; I remember Mickey having a sweet tooth. I remember when I visited him in Juvie how he had been so territorial about Jello; I couldn’t imagine him having any better options now. I would get him something special. 

It was concerning though, I thought, as I reread his opening paragraph; I hated to think of Mickey so desperate. I wanted him to feel my connection to him, to know that I wanted to be better together. But that was hard to translate when the other half of my soul was sitting behind bars. I think I might have to talk to Trevor soon. I hadn’t heard from him since I had given him Mickey’s address. That was weeks ago. I didn’t know what I was going to say. Maybe when I figured that out I would go talk to him. 

I refolded the letter and slip it back into the envelope, placing it on my chest. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine a weight on my chest; familiar, warm, the weight of Mickey’s soft but stubbled cheek. I felt my stomach drop at the realization that in ten days I might actually be able to touch that face. 

I checked the time; I would have to write my response later. I tucked the letter away under my pillow before heading back downstairs. Lip and Liam were sitting at the table, worksheets and workbooks spread out around them. I smiled and gave my older brother a playful shove as I bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

“What do we feel like for dinner tonight brothers?” I ask as I open the fridge and take stock of what I could whip up. “How do we feel about hamburgers and mac and cheese?” I peak over my shoulder. 

“Sounds good to me,” Lip says as he looks at Liam. “What about you?” 

“It’s better than peanut butter sandwiches,” he shrugged. We all had a good laugh at that. Out of everyone in the Gallagher house, I was the best cook and they both knew it. Fiona was burnt out on cooking for kids, so we’d taken over. Lip had a more refined taste, so when he cooked he liked to show off-which didn’t always result in “good eats”. Debbie claimed that she wouldn’t cook for feminist reasons, but we all knew that it was really because she had no talent for anything more complicated than soup and scrambled eggs. And Carl wasn’t around enough to cook for us, but when he did it was in bulk as he had learned at military school. 

Soon enough, I had dinner ready and Lip and Liam were clearing up the table so his homework dirty. “Smells good bro,” Lip said as he helped me take the plates to the table. It was simple, but I knew it would be good. 

“Thanks,” I say as we all sit down. I take a huge bite out of my burger, savoring the taste of meat and fat and salt and pepper. I hold back a groan. I wish I could cook for Mickey. I know he said that the food wasn’t as bad, but I still wanted to be able to take care of him in a special way. He would love this burger. It was thick, juicy, and flavorful. 

“So how’s Mickey doing?” Lip asks as we finish up; Liam is already in the living room watching cartoons since his homework is done. 

I shrug. “I think we’re both getting excited to see each other again.” 

“Just a couple weeks left, right?” I nod. “So that’s why you’re smiling, but why are you suddenly so quiet?”

I look at my brother. “I haven’t seen him since I watched him cross the boarder and yet I know this feeling. I’m falling in love with him. And I’m afraid. Every time we get close, something tears us apart. I don’t want to have to go through that again, but most of all I don’t know if I could bear it.”

“You’re the strongest person I know Ian,” Lip reminds him. “I may not have always understood your attraction to Mickey, but I’ve seen you both-you’re good for each other. And you both deserve a little happiness. Just enjoy seeing him, don’t over think it just yet.”

My brother was right. I was glad he was sober. I was excited to see the man I had been carrying a torch for. I should just enjoy that. Who knew how long I’d get to savor it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some comments and I will do my very best to respond this week to them. I take it as positive encouragement, so please comment or kudos. I'm hoping to use my degree to be a writer, but I'm still just beginning. I am excited for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I know its short, but what did you think? Does it give you some hope?


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